First the Memories
by DogStar716
Summary: Remus reflects on what will happen to him as soon as the full moon rises. 1149 words


This is just a short piece I wrote for my English class and then found that I completely adored it. This wasn't originally written as fanfiction, but it can be taken as such. Basically, this is Remus right before a transformation over the summer holidays. His family doesn't keep him in the house when he transforms, so they stick him out in the woods. This is just him reflecting on what's going to happen to him as soon as the moon rises. Enjoy!

_First the Memories_

The moon shines brightly at night, bathing all in her wonder. The light that comes flying down from the heavens is a silver ribbon, almost like a soft, silent, cool rain. The trees are awash with this rain, cleansing themselves of the impurities of the day. The lakes reflect it, shining silver themselves, imitating the moon out of respect. All water imitates the moon, wishing to become as high as She, all except the rushing river. It is too much in a hurry to think of anything but where it is going. It has no time to waste on the cleansing silver rain of the moon.

But the moon is not the only light in the infinite sky. She has accomplices; far away stars twinkling brightly in the black velvet of the night. They do not rain silver, but simply are the shining sequins to break the endless, unbearable black of night. They are friendly, smiling- forming pictures in the velvet, little silver stitches sewed in by the most careful hand. They speak of simple pleasure and joy for everyone.

The stars are liars. They show you the false happiness and fake hope of the simple, give you a brief joy and then snatch it away greedily. They hoodwink you into believing that there is hope, and then pull the bag over your eyes so you stumble blindly in the dark. They are forever out of reach; one can never touch the stars.

But that dislike is nothing compared to what I feel for the moon. To me, Her soft silver light is not a blessing but a curse I am fated to bear upon my shoulders. The rain touching my skin is not to me a cleansing but the sign of the horror yet to come. I do not hate Her, I fear her. I fear the symbol She stands for as each day I watch her get fatter and rounder, as each day I near the precipice, trying to back away but all the while knowing I shall fall. When she is at her largest and one can see for miles in her silver light, that is when it happens. When my curse comes into effect. When the memory of such a time, the first time, comes full upon me and I remember it all- and then live it again.

Tonight is such a night. I am sitting in a cabin that has been sealed shut with lead. There are no windows and there is no furniture. There are cracks in the ceiling, however; the entire place is not so opaque as that I cannot see outside. It is dusk; She has not yet shown Her face. The sun, bright, blinding, yellow, is just fading past the mountains. Soon She will come, and it will start. First the memories, they will flash through my mind. I will relive them as if it were the first time. I will hear the cries, and I will see the bright red flash of blood and feel the pain searing through my limbs. There will be the shining of the moon, and the reflection of Her light off long, pointed teeth. There will be the merry singing from the warm cabins, with their windows and their furniture. I will hear the prattle of the housewives and the deep voices of the men in their conversations and the merry laughter of delighted children as they open gifts. I will remember it all, I will see it all, feel it all, hear it all, smell and taste it all. There can be no way to avoid the pain to come.

But the memories are not the last, No, they are the first of my servitude to this curse. After the memories come the pain- needles through my skin and muscles and eyes and very bones. I am set afire and allowed to cook, slowly, for hours it seems. I lie writhing on the floor, twisting and crying, fire and ice searing through my body. The coldest heat in the world- that is what goes through my body. I feel it every time, and every time it is new pain afresh. There is no adaptation, or becoming accustomed. It is always the same, and always terrible.

Next- always next- comes the hatred. I look around at the wooden cabin. Only the doorway has been sealed with lead. This place will not hold me- I will run free tonight. And when the hatred takes me, I will destroy everything in my path, whether is be tree or deer or human or even the rushing river. Blood will be shed; sap will ooze from the gashes cut into the old pine trees. The river will run faster, terrified of the terrible hatred I will feel for all things. I will go insane. There will be no thought in my mind but one: kill. Not even in my subconscious will I know what I am doing, for my subconscious will be destroyed along with the trees and the deer and the humans and the rushing river. I will taste blood, hot, sticky blood, on my tongue tonight.

The hatred will not last forever, though. It will last until She is almost to the other horizon, disappearing below the mountains' edges- and then the hatred will disappear and the weakness will come. I will fall, no matter where I stand, no matter what I do; I will fall and be still. As the stars twinkle falsely above me, I will lie, barely breathing, blood still rushing through my veins, pouring out my mouth, erasing the foam and spittle that it there. All strength will flee from my bones, horrified by the crimes it has committed this night. I shall lose all things living, and lie still. And when the moon disappears below the horizon, so will the insanity, and I will lie naked where I fell, seeing nothing of the rising sun.

There are cracks in the wooden beams of the ceiling. Some are wide and jagged, others tiny- barely visible in between the wide wooden logs. Each log is very thick and solid, like the rest of the sturdy little cabin. It will not hold me for long, no matter its thickness. The madness is undefeated, nothing can resist, not even the sturdy cabin.

I look up through one of the wider cracks at the darkening blanket slowly covering the world. The last crimson flames are falling below the mountains, and dark purple fire is staining the navy sky now, rising up to the heavens like violet birds frightened into flight. Pale shreds of blue silk fall gently from the sky, fading as they pass beyond the mountains. It is almost time now. I take one last sane look around. She will come soon. And with her, the memories. First the memories.


End file.
